


Nothing But A Sheet

by IDontKnowWhatImDoing



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bickering, Humor, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 05:30:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IDontKnowWhatImDoing/pseuds/IDontKnowWhatImDoing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John just wanted to get some sleep after a long day. Sherlock had other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing But A Sheet

**Author's Note:**

> This is another early one I wrote and am transferring from another site.

Standing at the counter waiting for the carry-out food that he had just ordered, John thought about how very tired he felt.

He wasn't dead on his feet exhausted so much as just damn worn out. Sherlock and him had stayed up way too late working on a case the previous night. He had woken up far too early to what sounded like a jackhammer ripping apart concrete, which in fact ended up being a jackhammer tearing up the sidewalk outside their flat. He worked more hours than normal that day to cover patients for a doctor that was on vacation. Then, after having such an incredibly late lunch that it should probably just count as dinner, he got a text from his ever so sweet-heart (someone who, god knows how, had slept through the construction, who didn't have to work today since they solved the case last night, and who was surrounded by food and probably hadn't bothered to get up once to feed himself) asking John to pick up dinner on his way home.

So he was more than slightly tired, a little grumpy, and not a bit horny hours later as he waited for their food. When his phone alerted that he had a text message from Sherlock, his mind begged him not to read it.

_Why aren't you home yet?_

_-Getting dinner_

_Why?_

John should get a patent for aggravated sighing.

_-Because you asked me to_

_Oh. Nevermind that. Come home_ _now_

If anyone had been near him they would have heard a litany of whispered curse words.

_-ill be home soon_

_Be home Now!_

_-Is something wrong?_

There was a long delay before the next text appeared.

_Yes urgent, need you home now._

John leaned over, collapsing his head on the counter. He didn't care how strange that might seem in the crowded restaurant, sighing wasn't enough to convey his irritation. He knew what Sherlock _urgently_ wanted and he was to god awful tired to do anything about it.

_-liar_

_its an emergency!_

_-You lying horny git._

_HOME! NOW!_

* * *

When he got to their flat he wondered if it was possible to be quiet enough to not be noticed. Maybe, just maybe he could tip-toe up the stairs, leave the food at the top and then sneak back down and ask Mrs. Hudson if he could sleep on her couch. It was very tempting except that she would think that they had had a row and would question him endlessly. And he did want to check and see if just possibly, just for once, Sherlock's claim of an emergency might actually be an emergency.

Carrying his laptop case in one hand and two bags of carry-out food in the other, he dragged his feet up the stairs and prepared himself for an evening of explaining why he really wasn't in the mood and how he really just wanted to go to bed because Sherlock never made it easy.

As he got to the top of the stairs he looked into their sitting room and saw Sherlock on the recliner, wearing nothing but a sheet. Now Sherlock wears nothing but a sheet quite often around the flat and though it usually causes John to become worked up at just the sight, it isn't always a game changer. So it wasn't the lack of clothing that made him catch his breath but it helped.

Sherlock was sitting low in the chair, his long legs splayed out. His head was leaning back against the top of the chair, mouth slightly open, eyes closed tight. With his arse at the edge of the seat and his head back it caused his body to be arched, his neck stretched. The top of the sheet around his right shoulder was a bit askew giving a glimpse of the pale, beautiful chest hiding underneath. The sheet covered only the very top of his legs. And his hands, one was gripping the arm rest so tightly that white knuckles were showing. The other clenched to his thigh, finger nails into clawed into his skin.

He was so perfectly still it was as if looking at a photograph, an incredibly erotic frozen moment of this terribly sexy man receiving a marvelous blow job. John's knees went weak.

But then John noticed almost imperceptible movement, he stared for a moment to make sure he wasn't imaging it. He wasn't.

The finger nails on his leg were slowly, so very slowly clawing at the skin of his thigh, causing John's throat to go dry. The other one was so faint he was surprised he even caught it. Every few seconds Sherlock's hips would tilt forward and back just a fraction, a canting into the imaginary mouth servicing him. All thoughts of being tired disappeared from his mind, along with every other thought except for one.

John couldn't tell you how long he stared. He didn't recall at what point he dropped the bags of food to the floor. He wasn't aware of letting go of the handle of his laptop case. He did eventually remember how to walk. He doubted he would ever forget taking those few steps and kneeling in front of the most amazingly sexy creature he had ever seen.

* * *

Up to this point Sherlock had not once acknowledged that John had returned home, seemly lost in this phantom frozen-in-time blow job. But when John started running his fingers up both of his thighs, planting light kissing up and up his soft skin; Sherlock finally made sounds, beautiful sounds. A sharp intake of air and a soft moan.

Sherlock's hand, the one that had been on his own thigh, moved to the back of John's head, his finger's gently clutching his hair. The other stayed on the arm rest, gripping it so tight John could hear the material almost tearing.

John pulled the sheet away from Sherlock's body to expose his growing erection. Wasting no time, his arousal going from non-existent to burning so deep it hurt, he took Sherlock's cock completely in his mouth.

Sherlock moaned, "Oh….god..yes," the first words he had spoken since John walked into the room. His back arched even further into the chair as his grip tightened on the back of John's head, fingernails digging into his scalp.

John continued taking him deeply then he let Sherlock's cock slide out of his mouth. He ran his tongue from the base to the tip, flicking the tip with his tongue, tasting the precum.

Sherlock's hips canted forward, "Oh god...John"

Taking just the head of his lover's cock back into his mouth, he swirled his tongue round, licking and sucking at it with his lips, causing Sherlock to thrust again slightly with his hips, his body pleading for more. Sherlock moved his other hand to grip the top of the chair.

Gripping his hips, he pulled Sherlock into him deeper giving him permission to thrust on his own and Sherlock began pumping himself into John's mouth.

"Oh god..oh..yes." Sherlock keening and thrusting, he felt and sounded so wanton John was moaning with each thrust.

Unzipping his jeans, he slid a hand to his own erection and began stroking himself. His other hand stayed on Sherlock's hip because he knew if he moved it to where Sherlock wanted him to it would bring him over the edge and he wasn't ready for his lover to climax.

He stroked himself rapidly to the music was Sherlock giving him. Ragged breath, pleading cries. His own moans were issuing from his mouth as he sucked harder on his love.

"Oh god…please… John..…"

After drawling it out as long as he could take, the feeling of Sherlock's cock in his mouth, the thrusting of those sharp delicious hips, the noise Sherlock was making, he was so close it was getting painful. He jerked harder on his own cock. He took his other hand and gripped the base of Sherlock erection and started moving his hand in time with Sherlock's thrusts.

Looking up to meet those pale, lust filled eyes watching him, Sherlock groaned, "Oh god..Oh god.. John"

Gripping the back of John's head Sherlock thrust in once more deep and then he came, shooting hot into John's throat. His body going rigid until spasms rocked through him as he desperately pumped into the John's mouth.

John continued to suck through Sherlock's orgasm as he came over his own hand. He moaned loudly as the pleasure washed over him while still feeling Sherlock rock through the last throes of his own. Finally he released the spent member from his mouth and collapsed his head on to Sherlock's thigh as his orgasm finished tearing through him. He didn't move for a few minutes while Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair.

"It's about time you got home. I did say it was an emergency."

John couldn't help but laugh. "Your dinners on the floor by the way."


End file.
